


Ephialtes

by nahul



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Childhood, Flashbacks, Gen, Miya Atsumu but he's shy, Miya Osamu being lovely, Nightmares, Siblings, they're both kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nahul/pseuds/nahul
Summary: There's this thing that chases him in his dreams. It watches him constantly, a thing born of blackness and shadows that clings to his consciousness and he's terrified of it. This thing that gives him nightmares, that watches him through his window and lurks in the darker crannies of his mind. He tries to tell people, anyone, that there's this thing watching him and waiting and ready to hurt him - this thing that he is absolutelyterrifiedof.But nobody believes him.





	Ephialtes

**Author's Note:**

> ephialtes  
>  _noun_  
>  a nightmare or a demon that causes nightmares.

Their childhood neighbourhood.

It passes him now in a blur, the mist of the window obscuring the view from the house he used to live in. He knows he passes it though, even though his eyes are closed and leaning against the glass window of his mother’s car, feigning sleep and chasing idle dreams. Osamu’s gonna nudge him any minute, he knows. Just like how he’s aware that he’s passing his old house due to the slight bump of the road, the way the shadows sit on the car whenever a house breaches the sunlight that floods the road.

“‘Tsumu, you sleeping?” 

There it is. The nudge. Everything playing out in his head just as he knew it would. He doesn’t reply to Osamu, though, instead leaning his head slightly against the headrest in the back of his mother’s car and letting the sunlight spill through the window onto his face.

There’s something alarming about the way the sunlight drips onto his face, the way it pulls at spindles of memories that make his chasing mind halt. Clear sunlight breaks through the clouds of daydreams that were sprinkled periodically through his mind, shining a spotlight on the darkened parts of his mind. Nooks and crannies of a forest that hadn’t been explored for a while. 

Without warning, his mind began to trundle down the darkened trail. Brambles and bracken giving way underfoot, shards of memory long forgotten. A trap of sorts that swiftly encaptures him; sends him spiralling down a rabbit hole with no end sans for a deep, rippling pool of memories baked in sunlight. He seems to be floating just above the surface, foot skimming the surface before it pulls him in fully.

And he is four years old again. Sunlight doesn’t dominate the skyline as much as it should for a child basking in their fourth summer, no. It seems to shy away, hiding behind grey clouds and clinging to the corners of the skies, where bleakness stretches out for as far as his eye can see. 

Huddled under a blanket, he peers blearily out the edges, eyes landing on his twin’s face. Upside down and staring at him, face seemingly floating in mid-air. 

“You okay, ‘Tsumu?”

Atsumu turns over, eyes focusing on the trees that sit just outside their bedroom window, at the darkening skies. He fell asleep again. 

Letting out a muffled hum in response to his twin, he huddles further into his blanket as his eyes catch onto the phantom of a monster the lurks. Lurks in between the leaves of the tree that rustle in the late summer breeze, under darkened skies. A creature born of shadows that haunts his dreams as much as it does in reality, and he suddenly realises that there are tear trails staining his face; there’s a slight shudder in his chest when he breathes and his bedsheets are sticking to him. 

He realises why his brother is peering down at him, probably wondering whether he should climb down the ladder and slide into bed alongside him. 

“Are you okay, ‘Tsumu?” he asks again, warily this time, and Atsumu’s eyes locate their alarm clock sat on his bedside table.

**23:12**

“Y-yeah.”

In the darkness, his fumbling fingers (that, he notices, are trembling) clumsily clasp the knitted blanket his mother made for him. Tremulous hands wipe away the wetness that sits on his face, and he doesn’t dare to make a noise for fear that his shaky breathing would alert Osamu too much. He doesn’t doubt Osamu knows that he’s had a nightmare, he’s probably more aware that Atsumu’s been tossing and turning in a nightmarish frenzy than Atsumu is.

All Atsumu seems to be aware of is the figure that’s crouched on the tree outside their room. The way its eyes rest on his figure, the way he wants to disappear inside the fortress of sweat-soaked blankets and never return again, it’s an all-too-familiar feeling that sits in the bottom of his stomach. All he wants to do is hide away from the piercing gaze of that shadow drenched  _ thing  _ that spies on him under the darkness of a moonless night.

Alternatively, he wants to crawl into his mother’s room and curl up in her bed and fall asleep basking in the feeling of safety. Basking in the reassurance that when he awakes, there’ll be glittering sunlight there to greet him from his slumber as opposed to darkened figures of nothingness that cut into his figure.

But he is a big boy now. A big boy who doesn’t rely on his mother to protect him, a big boy who really shouldn’t be having nightmares at the age of four whole years old. At least, not the sort of night terrors that awaken Osamu from his own sleep and soak his face with tears.

Balling his fists, he hides his face in the blanket and tries to shrink himself from the watchful gaze of the thing outside his window. It’s stupid. He knows it’s stupid. But there is a thing in the corner of his window that’s  _ watching  _ him, and nobody believes him. There is, though, he’s seen it watching him. It crawls out of the shadows when he’s sat at his shared desk doing homework, when he’s playing with his toys late at night. 

When it’s summer and their thick curtains are replaced by thin curtains that allow his eyes to trace every curve of the thing’s figure. It hides under the lavish leaves in summer, clings to branches and morphs into the trunk of the sakura tree during winter. Regardless, it is always present. Always watching. 

And nobody believes him.

“‘Tsumu?” 

Osamu’s voice is calm, placating, slight ripples on a silent pond that counter the sea of anxiety that Atsumu feels like he’s flooding in. Because that thing is there. Watching him. It’s coming to take him, to get him, to take him away from his mother and his brother because he’s been a naughty boy and he doesn’t even know what he’s done wrong he just  _ knows  _ that he’s done something bad because he’s  _ always  _ been the naughty twin. His breath catches in his throat, and he wishes he had Osamu’s composure.

Osamu, the calmer of the duo. Or something like that. Osamu, the one who doesn’t get scared of figures in the dark or spiders or crowds or slamming doors or people talking too loud. Osamu, the one who has loads of friends, who doesn’t kick up a scene or cry when there’s nobody else with him, who isn’t scared to go places on his own. How Atsumu envies him.

“Hmmm?” His breathing is shuddery, response too high, voice too hoarse to really say anything else.

That’s when he hears the bed moving. Feels the shake of the ladder as his brother shifts, climbing from the top bunk swiftly and with ease. He can’t really see his brother properly, though the traces of silver that slide in through the window seem to be enough for him to gauge Atsumu’s emotions.

There’s really no such thing as twins being telepathic, Atsumu knows this. But still, he questions it every time Osamu seems to read him like an open book. Questions it now. watching from his fortress of blankets as Osamu pads across the floor and slams their window shut. The gentle rustle of the leaves isn’t as loud now, a barrier between them and the thing that sits on the branches.

It doesn’t go away, though. Atsumu knows it, can feel its eyes staring him down and he wishes he wasn’t so scared. He wishes he wasn’t scared of the children of nightmares, that he wasn’t scared of anything. He wishes he was more like Osamu. His eyes are locked on his brother now, watching him come closer and closer.

He’s his twin image, yet there’s something so… distinct about Osamu. Different in everything sans for looks. His eyes can barely make out his brother’s face in the darkness, but he knows his brother is tired and he feels guilt roll over him and for the nth time wishes that he wasn’t so damn afraid.

He’s a big boy.

“‘Tsumu, move over.” Is all that Osamu says.

Wordlessly, Atsumu obeys, not objecting as he lets Osamu crawl into bed beside him. Cooler, calmer arms throw themselves around his trembling shoulders. Pulls him closer together, and Atsumu doesn’t whimper in the embrace of his brother. No. Because Atsumu is a big boy.

But he can’t deny the security that he feels now, with his brother’s arms wrapped around him. A shield, protecting him.

“Was it the thing again?” Osamu murmurs, and Atsumu doesn’t quite miss the hint of sleep that laces his voice.

“Yeah,” is all he says, and Osamu doesn’t push.

Osamu never pushes.

Because he knows Atsumu doesn’t like to talk about the thing. Though Atsumu reckons Osamu doesn’t like to talk about the thing either. He knows it’s there, though. Atsumu knows it occupies the darker parts in Osamu’s mind too, Osamu just seems to be better at folding it away in between happier, stronger memories. Osamu was always better at keeping the room tidy, after all.

“Well I’ll fight it,” Osamu mumbles, “we can fight it together, actually. We’ll chase it away one day, ‘Tsumu.”

“Mm,” Atsumu replies, his body finally relaxing in his bed, the pressure of that thing’s eyes off him for once.

“And… and if it shouts. Or slams doors. Or hits you… then I’m gonna just shout louder, ‘Tsumu. We can both shout louder and scare it away… and hit it back, and slam doors even louder… though maybe not, ‘cause mom would get mad...” his voice is tired, intertwined with yawns, but there’s a strength in his voice that puts Atsumu’s mind at rest.

And Osamu’s already snoozing when Atsumu finally replies, nuzzling into his blanket with his twin’s arm around him with the hint of a smile tracing a ghostly pattern across his face.

“Thanks… ‘Samu,”

His mind drifts off, and his mind is lost in the cloud of lighter subconsciousness; the sort that belongs to childlike innocence only, and Atsumu finds himself back there. In the dregs of his subconsciousness, and he can feel the car bumping along the road, and the irritating nudge of his brother on his arm.

“‘Tsumu…. ‘Tsuuuumu- mom, ‘Tsumu’s asleep.” 

Atsumus resists the smile on his face, feeling a riveting sensation of gratitude wash over him for Osamu. It’s sentimental and stupid, but he still can’t help it. 

Hell, Osamu probably can’t even remember what he’d said that night; they were merely idle words spoken in a dreamy haze, but the words clung to Atsumu’s skin like a shield. The sort of words he’d recall when he felt too scared to go to school when Osamu was sick, or too scared to stay at home when he was sick without Osamu. 

Atsumu doesn’t even know whether Osamu had heard his quiet ‘thanks’.

Probably not.

“‘Tsumu,” 

Another nudge. Innocuously, Atsumu curls into the nudge, allowing his body to flop slightly. Allows his head to rest on his brother’s shoulder, the way he would when he was younger and much more afraid. 

If Osamu notices he’s faking his sleep, he doesn’t say a word.

It’s a thanks, of sorts. Atsumu just hopes that, like always, Osamu can read his actions fluently. The way he always has.

A thanks for being there for me, of sorts. The sort that only Osamu would understand.

And the memories pass them by in a blur, the way their childhood neighbourhood does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! This is my first Miya twins fic. More will come soon probably. Hope you enjoyed??


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